


RULE

by petyrbaelishking



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But Not GRRM Sibling Love, But There is Plot Too, Eventual Fluff, F/M, PLATONIC SIBLING LOVE ONLY, Political AU, Sibling Love Everywhere, Smut, The Stark Children Are Alive, lots of smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24976936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petyrbaelishking/pseuds/petyrbaelishking
Summary: Sansa Stark is fresh out of university and finds herself running her brother's campaign as he sets his gaze upon governing the country. As they face the Lannisters head on in the election, Sansa finds that her world becomes increasingly entanagled with the world of Petyr Baelish, who just happens to be the Lannisters' campaign manager. Beyond the politics and competition of their two candidates, Sansa and Petyr find themselves playing a dangerous game, and neither are entirely sure that they'll make it out alive.Modern Political AU.
Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter I - A Familiar Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, welcome to my garbage. I haven't written anything for this fandom for a long time, so please bear with me. 
> 
> I really liked the idea of Petyr and Sansa being competing campaign managers and the sexy banter that would come with it. I really hope I do it justice with the vision that I have set up in my mind. Happy reading!

It was a rather nice day out, Sansa reflected as she stepped out of the town car. The past several weeks had covered the Northern lands in snow, something that was not uncommon for that time of year. Sansa had always loved the snow, ever since she was a little girl. Her father had once told her that the snow was in her blood. She was always partial to the cool climates of the North, and yet, she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face as the clouds parted and the sun beamed down on her on that mid-March morning. It gave her hope.

“How many donors do you think showed up?” Robb’s voice interrupted her thoughts as he walked around the back of the car to meet her, Jon and Arya following close behind him. Sansa smiled. Ever since Robb had announced he would be running for Prime Minister, Jon and Arya rarely left his side.

“Karstark, Mormont, and Umber will be here for sure, and they’ve already pledged donations for you in advance. Glover expected to attend, as well as Reed, Hornwood, and Manderly. There were a couple politicians that never replied to the invitation, but they could be here as well,” Sansa replied evenly as they made their way towards the entrance. She held the tablet containing all the donor information tightly to her chest.

She struggled to maintain her nerves as the four of them approached the building. She briefly wondered what she had been thinking when she agreed to be Robb’s campaign manager. She had little to no experience, and truth be told, she was not entirely sure she knew what she was doing. She remembered the night Robb had come to her, confiding in her that he wanted to run for Prime Minister against Joffrey Lannister. He had asked her to manage his campaign, claiming she was the only one he trusted to run it.

She had been honored, truly. She knew Robb would make an outstanding Prime Minister. He would govern fairly and justly. He took after their father in the way that he was honorable to a fault at times. She believed he could make the country better; she just didn’t know what role she had to play in his campaign. He believed in her mind. She had been at the top of her class in university, and her major in political science didn’t hurt either. Robb was convinced she was the best person for the job, and he would not take no for an answer.

And so, Sansa had stood next to her brother at the podium outside of their home, smiling proudly as he announced his candidacy. She only wished her parents were able to see their eldest son then. Oh, how proud they would’ve been.

Sansa still had doubts about her capabilities to manage a campaign of such a calibre when she had never done anything like it before. But Robb believed in her. In fact, he said that her inexperience would give them a competitive edge. Her originality would be what would win them the election, he had said. She didn’t have years of old tricks up her sleeve. Anything she would come up with would be new, and their campaign would be different from every other campaign in race.

She smiled to herself as she glanced at Robb. His faith in her had almost restored her faith back into herself. He caught her eye, smiling back as he put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. He didn’t say anything, but she knew the gesture was mean to calm her nerves.

She briefly wondered if he was nervous. Robb had always put on a brave face. He never let people see if he was nervous. People would often mistake it for pride, but Robb was not too proud to show emotion, but rather he was too selfless. He had always been the caretaker, especially when their parents had died, and he often kept his emotions reserved, putting himself on the back burner to attend to everyone else. It was another reason Sansa thought he would do well in a seat of government.

They entered the community center, seeing several familiar faces upon their entry. They stopped to speak with a few people, exchanging pleasantries before moving on to the next. Robb handled himself with an air of elegance, and Sansa couldn’t have been prouder.

“He’s in his element here,” Sansa heard Arya speak from beside her. Sansa looked to her left where Arya stood, watching Robb with admiration.

“He was always rather good with people, even as a boy,” Sansa mused, remembering how Robb would make friends with all of the children in his classes at school. When fights would break out among his classmates, Robb had been the one to keep the peace. Ever the diplomat, he was.

“Well I couldn’t do it,” Arya said. Sansa raised an eyebrow. “Robb spends all days talking to these old wankers and he has to pretend like he’s at least remotely interested. I’ll tell you, if I had to engage in a conversation with old man Cerwyn for longer than five minutes, I think I’d blow my brains out.”

“Arya!” Sansa exclaimed at her sister’s brashness around prying ears. Though, Sansa would be lying if she said that she didn’t have to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing. The man in question did happen to tell the most boring, agonizingly long stories.

“What? No one’s paying attention. Besides, I haven’t said anything that’s not true,” Arya replied with an air of indifference. She had never really been fond of politics. In fact, she would often roll her eyes and walk away whenever their father, Robb, and Sansa would begin to discuss the political climate in Westeros, but ever since Robb announced his candidacy, Arya had requested to be at each of his fundraisers, rallies, and debates. She was proud of her brother, and if that meant she had to sit through discussions about boring policies that she didn’t care about, she would. To all of the Starks, family had recently been reaffirmed as the most important thing in their lives.

Sansa did not comment on Arya’s reply. Instead, they both watched Robb walk up to the stage. He was about to give his first public speech. Sansa surveyed the crowd that began gathering. It had been a rather successful turnout. She saw plenty of familiar faces, including that of Jeor Mormont, Wyman Manderly, and Howland Reed. She saw a few unfamiliar faces as well, all of whom she did not doubt were supporters that had come out to see Robb’s first public appearance since he announced he would be running in the election. Among the crowds, she also saw a couple cameramen belonging to local news stations, ready to catch what the young candidate had to say at his first public appearance.

She watched as Robb approached the podium, his hand reaching for his suit jacket to pull out the cue cards that had his speech written out on them. He looked sophisticated up there, in his navy-blue suit. He looked like a man; no longer was he the boy she had grown up with, but he had become a man in every sense of the word.

Sansa turned to her left again, ready to comment how much like their father Robb looked then and there to Arya, but she had disappeared. No doubt she had gone off to find Jon. The two were nearly inseparable.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Robb spoke into the microphone, and Sansa turned her attention back to the stage. The dull chatter in the room quieted to a stop as men and women turned their attention to Robb. “Thank you all for being here today. I appreciate the support of every single person in this room. Even if you aren’t able to donate, just your support means the world.

“I know that many of you knew my father, Ned,” he paused as the Northern men and women remembered the honourable councilman, “I wish that he was here with us today. He was a good man, the best I’ve ever known, and he taught me what it is to be a good man. He taught me that family, faith, and honour are values that uphold this great country, and that we should never take them for granted. He also taught me the value the North has brought to this country and how, for decades, the North has been overlooked.”

Mutters of agreement came from the crowd, and Sansa smiled. Robb was delivering his speech with a grace and a firmness that she knew would speak to the people of the North, who had felt undermined by the government for nearly a century.

“It is time that the North gets the recognition it deserves. We are not just coal miners and tree loggers. We are not a cold, vast wasteland, as Joffrey Lannister has so affectionately dubbed us. We bring in millions in revenue through our trades and our industrial work. It’s time that we make that known to the rest of the country,” Robb stated. Cheers came from the crowds. The Northern people had never been a quiet group. They were vocal when they heard things they liked, and they were even more vocal when they heard things they didn’t like.

She listened as Robb began to list off policies for change that he would seek if he were Prime Minister, but was caught off guard when she saw someone move to stand next to her, a little closer than socially polite.

“He’s quite the man, your brother,” the man who stood next to her spoke, and she could hear the lilt of an accent that certainly wasn’t Northern. She turned to look at the intruder and found herself to be shocked to see a familiar face.

Petyr Baelish stood beside her, an infuriating smirk across his face as he watched her brother give an impassioned speech of change. She knew the man purely by reputation. She had made it her mission to know everything she could about the man running the Lannister campaign.

He was different than the pictures. He was more striking in person, and a bit shorter. When she had seen photographs of Joffrey’s campaign manager, he had seemed larger than life itself. In reality, he was a rather slight man, and she was slightly taller than him in her heels. And yet, there was something that still intimidated her about him. Something in his stature, the way he was so sure of himself, made him seem bigger than he was.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Her tone was not angry, nor was she angry in the least. She was expecting Joffrey to send someone to spy on Robb, she just hadn’t expected him to send his campaign manager.

“I came to see the young wolf in action,” he said, nodding towards Robb, “and I have to say, I’m not disappointed in the least. He’s very well spoken. He might actually have a chance in the debate. Though, do tell me, Sansa, is it your words that he is so passionately delivering to the crowd?”

He turned then, finally resting his eyes on her. For a moment, she was silent as she tried to determine if his eyes were grey or if they were green.

“He is addressing his own ideas. How they were written or by whom they were written doesn’t matter,” she told him, turning her eyes away at fear of getting lost. She heard him chuckle.

“I suppose you’re right,” he replied, looking back to her brother.

“What are you really doing here?” she asked. When he didn’t reply after a moment, she answered for him. “You know, spying isn’t becoming of you, Mr. Baelish.”

He turned back to her again and his lips twitched. It was the only indication that he was affected by her already knowing his surname.

“I’m not necessarily here to spy,” he told her, and she furrowed her eyebrows in doubt. His smirk widened. “Not on Robb, at least.”

It didn’t take a mastermind to figure out that look in his eye meant he was there to spy on her.

“I hope you didn’t come here with the notion I would reveal all of my tricks to you,” she said. He shook his head.

“No, I believe I already know everything I need to know,” he replied. Sansa cocked her head as she looked at him. If he had already gathered his information, why come to see her in person?

“Then why waste a trip?” she asked. Petyr smiled, but she found that it did not quite reach his eyes.

“Why indeed,” was his only reply. Sansa frowned. The way he evaded answers made her uneasy. She certainly didn’t trust the Lannisters, so she was sure having been sent by the Lannisters, his intentions could only be to tear down the Stark’s camaign.

Sansa looked to the head of her security, Brienne, who stood at the door, eying her curiously.

“I could have you thrown out, you know,” she spoke to the man beside her, keeping her eyes on Brienne.

“Yes, and you could have thrown me out quite a while ago,” he replied, his signature smirk making an appearance on his face again. She wondered if he was always so infuriating. “Look, Ms. Stark, there’s no harm in checking out the competition. I find it healthy, in fact. I encourage you to do the same. Joffrey is hosting a fundraiser on Friday in King’s Landing. You should make a trip, see the competition. It will be an affair much like this, except we may draw a bigger crowd.”

She wanted to wipe the smug look off his face as he muttered the end of his sentence. There was something about the self-satisfied glint in his eye that frustrated her and intrigued her at the same time.

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea,” she replied, glancing back at her brother, who was finishing up his speech. She knew he would be furious if he found out that she had gone to a Lannister event, especially considering the complicated history the Starks had with the Lannisters.

“Think about it. You might find that you learn something at this fundraiser, something you could use to your advantage,” he said, an air of mystery in his tone. She raised an eyebrow, searching his face for a clue. Was he baiting her? Was this all some cruel trick by the Lannisters to get the upper hand? She couldn’t tell as he kept his features reserved in their reactions. She certainly didn’t trust this man, but she couldn’t help but wonder whether or not he was truly willing to give her information about the Lannisters that would help her.

“Do consider it. I hope I have the pleasure of seeing you Friday, Ms. Stark,” he said, giving her one last lingering look before he turned away, disappearing into the crowds. She was left staring at the sea of people that had engulfed him as her mind mulled over the very strange interaction they had.

She had never met the man before, and yet, he had seemed rather familiar with her. She had to admit, it was a bold moved to show up at the opponent’s rally knowing he would be easily recognizable, but she couldn’t shake off the unease she felt at the fact that he had barely even regarded Robb, much less listened to him. He seemed to be there for _her_ , and she simply couldn’t fathom why.

She felt unnerved. He had invited her to King’s Landing. To Joffrey’s fundraiser. To scope out the competition. She briefly wondered if Joffrey had confided in Petyr about his and Sansa’s brief, yet painful relationship. Was that why he had come? Was Joffrey still playing his sick jokes on her? She couldn’t be sure, and the question of the man’s appearance only caused her mind to spin with the possibilities.

“Sansa,” her brother was calling her name from behind her. She turned suddenly, a polite smile poised on her face. She hadn’t even registered that his speech had ended. She quickly composed herself upon seeing his skeptical gaze.

“Robb, you were wonderful! I knew you would be a phenomenal public speaker,” she told him, wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug. Robb chuckled as he hugged her back.

“Well, I do have some experience, but I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to that large of a crowd,” he replied, pulling back. His eyes glanced behind her, to the crowds that were mingling amongst themselves, or watching the young candidate with admiration. “Were you looking for someone?”

She cursed, hoping that she hadn’t seen her talking to Petyr Baelish. She didn’t necessarily want to keep secrets from her family, but until she knew why he had showed up there, she didn’t want to alarm Robb.

“I wasn’t sure where Arya and Jon got off to,” she said, looking around the people to try and spot their faces.

“They are trying to avoid old man Cerwyn, I believe,” Robb said with a chuckle. Sansa smiled. “Anyways, I suppose we should mingle a bit. I’d like to introduce everyone to my brilliant campaign manager.”

“Hardly,” Sansa replied, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, you arranged this entire thing. You contacted all the donors and sent out the invitations. You deserve the recognition too,” Robb told her. Sansa grinned at her brother. When they were younger, they hadn’t gotten along. He had been into video games and action figures and sports, and Sansa had been dreaming of princes and princesses and knights in shining armour. They had been polar opposites. As they had gotten older though, her brother had become very protective of her, and they had grown very close, especially after her relationship with Joffrey. Sometimes it felt like Robb was the one person in the world she could trust.

“Okay, let’s go mingle, and then I say we go and get some pizza,” Sansa suggested. Robb nodded at the suggestion, a boyish grin taking over his features.

“Deal,” he said. The siblings then walked over to Howland Reed, and old friend of their father’s. They shook his hand and made small talk. He was the first of many they would talk to that afternoon.

Sansa was happy the day had gone so well. She was ecstatic at the support Robb had generated in the North, and she was hopeful for the election. However, she would have been lying to herself if she said a certain pair of grey-green eyes didn’t linger in her mind. She found herself wondering about the kind of person Petyr Baelish was, and what he might do or say if she were to go to King’s Landing that week.

One thing was for certain; she was sure to get herself in trouble around the likes of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, there's the first chapter! I have a lot planned out for this story, and I'm really excited for it. This first chapter was a little rough, I have to admit I haven't done much writing lately so I'm a bit rusty. But I hope you enjoyed it! Things will become clearer as the story goes on, but I'm sure this is going to be a roller coaster ride of emotions. 
> 
> As Westeros is its own country in this story, I am totally making up all of the political stuff. The politics of Westeros will likely make no sense, but hey, that's fiction for you.
> 
> I'm hoping to get this updated once a week, but I do work most days and my schedule changes from week to week, so It might be hard to keep to a timeline. I will do my best though. 
> 
> Finally, the title is the same title of a song by X Ambassadors, and it's a song I quite like in regards to Petyr and Sansa. If you have a chance, give it a listen!
> 
> I'm really excited to post the next chapter and to write out this journey. Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Thank you for reading :)


	2. Chapter II - Strength v. Weakness

Despite her better judgment, Sansa found herself among the crowds at the Lannister fundraiser. She was awed at how many people had shown up. Where nearly 300 people had shown up to Robb’s fundraiser, Sansa was sure that nearly a thousand had gathered in the auditorium that the Lannisters had rented out.

Her anxiety levels were through the roof, and her head itched from the cheap wig that sat upon her head, but she was not about to let Joffrey, or his mother, recognize her. They had caused her far too much pain over the years as it was, and she was sure that given the opportunity, they would not hesitate to publicly humiliate her in front of their supporters. In fact, she was sure they would be thrilled to get the chance.

She had struggled for a long time on whether or not to attend the fundraiser. She knew it likely was not a smart idea. Just the thought of seeing Joffrey again made her stomach tighten. While she had not dated the boy long, she had several scars, not all physical, that commemorated the relationship.

She had met Joffrey when she was sixteen, due to their fathers working closely together. She had been infatuated from first glance. He was a couple years older, and she thought he was the handsomest boy she’d ever seen. He was kind and caring at first, and he spoke such sweet words about the future, about a future together. She truly believed that she would marry him some day, and that, given his political aspirations, he would govern the country, and she would be right there by his side.

It was only a matter of time before she was to bear witness to the monster that lived within the Lannister boy. It was as if a switch had flipped within him, and he became cruel and cold to her. It was as if he had made it his mission to tell her hurtful things and purple her pale skin, all the while parading her around on his arm like some trophy. She feared that she would never get out of the relationship with Joffrey, that she would forever wear his marks on her skin. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so relieved when he had told her that he was leaving her for someone else.

Joffrey had taught her that the princes and knights of her stories were nothing more than fiction and that what the world was really made up of was monsters. She was thankful for Joffrey for one thing; his cruelty had made her tougher, had shown her the resiliency that she possessed. It had taken a long while to get to that conclusion, but once he had broken her, she had forged herself back together with tougher material than she had been made of before.

Still, her heart beat uncertainly in her chest at the thought of seeing him. She hadn’t seen him since his father’s funeral, and then she had been under the protection of her two older brothers. Now, she found herself in a crowd of people, but she was entirely alone – not a soul to save her from Joffrey’s cruelty if he happened to recognize her through the pathetic brown wig and fake glasses.

Her mind wandered to the man who had invited her. Was he in this crowd somewhere? Surely, he had to be. Her eyes searched the many faces, but she never found the one she was looking for. Did she want to find him? She couldn’t fathom what she would say to him if she did happen to spot him. Their entire interaction the other day had been strange at best, and yet, she had found herself thinking about the illusive Petyr Baelish more and more.

After the Starks had gone home that evening, joining their younger brothers for an impromptu pizza party, Sansa has stayed up researching Petyr. She had researched him before, of course, but her previous search had been considerably basic. She only needed to know vague details about the man to get an idea of the kind of campaign he might run. However, after meeting him, she found that she wanted to know all that she could.

She had come up short in her search. She had read that he had started out as a young political science major, much like herself, before being taken under the wing of Jon Arryn, a recently deceased cabinet minister who worked closely with Robert Baratheon. When Baratheon became Prime Minister, Petyr had become one of his political advisors, thus bringing him into the inner circle of Lannisters. After Baratheon’s death, Petyr went on to offer his services to Joffrey, who had been planning on running in the upcoming election.

While his ascension up the political ladder had been interesting, there was not much else one could find out about Petyr Baelish. There were a few photos of him over the years with different politicians, and articles about the timeline of his career, but for the life of her, Sansa couldn’t even find a birthplace for the man.

She couldn’t be sure where this urge to learn more about the opposing campaign manager was coming from. She had one conversation with the man, but it was that very conversation that kept her up at night. She couldn’t help the gut feeling that he was up to something, and she had flown all the way to King’s Landing just to find out what. Or, at least, that’s what she was telling herself.

She saw Joffrey enter the auditorium, the crowd parting for him like the Red Sea. Several faces looked in awe at the young man, and Sansa nearly gagged. She couldn’t blame them, she supposed. There had been a time where she had nearly worshipped the ground Joffrey walked on, but now when she looked at him, all she could see was the cruelty that she knew hid beneath the façade.

Sansa saw Cersei and Tywin following close behind as Joffrey headed to the stage, not bothering to stop and mingle with anyone. Sansa ducked her head, praying that neither of them would see her. She seemed to be in the clear when they walked past her without even a second glance. She sighed in relief, her heart beating a hundred miles per hour. She could feel the sweat building up in her palm as her eyes followed the back of Joffrey’s head. She shouldn’t be here. The memories he evoked from her were ones best not relived. She had come to terms with her past, and Joffrey, even through his cruelty, had made her stronger, but looking at him there in that room left her feeling like the girl he had broken all those years ago.

She thought about leaving, she even turned towards the exit, ready to escape before she had to hear the sound of his voice, when another voice, deeper and richer in tone made her stop in her tracks.

“You can’t go yet,” he said, “the speech hasn’t even started yet.”

She turned back around slowly, her eyes landing on the grey-green orbs that watched her curiously. He looked over her, his eyes landing on the wig atop her head as a smirk made itself present on his face. As terrible as her disguise had been – a cheap brunette wig and a pair of glasses – Sansa was surprised that he had recognized her. Joffrey and Cersei, maybe. They had been around her enough to know her features. But she had met this man once, and he had seen right through her disguise. Perhaps she hadn’t hidden as well as she had thought.

He watched her expectantly, as if waiting for her to speak, but she only stared back at him. He was impeccably dressed in a fine tailored charcoal suit, and his hair was neatly combed with not a strand out of place. He looked so well put together. Even his features were reigned in to hold this infallible mask over his face. She briefly found herself wondering what he might look like if his hair was mussed, or if his mask happened to slip a little. She chastised herself for even thinking about such thoughts.

“I’m sure you didn’t make this trip just to leave before you’ve learnt anything,” he spoke again, his eyes flickering behind her to the stage where Joffrey was preparing to speak. She wrung her hands. She was more nervous than she had been only moments ago. If Petyr had been able to see through her disguise, then-

“He doesn’t know you’re here,” he said, as if reading her mind. “nor will he.”

“You can’t be sure about that,” she replied, frowning. She didn’t like the way he seemed to know her inner thoughts. The man before her watched her carefully, a hint of a smirk toying on his lips.

“I’ll protect you,” he said smoothly. Sansa bit back a scoff.

“Why would you do that?” she asked. A half smile formed on his face.

“Did you tell your brother about the other day?” he countered. Sansa bit her lip, shaking her head in response. He looked incredibly smug in that moment. “Why not?”

He had her there. She should have told Robb about an opposing campaign manager visiting his fundraiser. She should have ratted Petyr out. She should have stayed the hell away from any Lannister event. And yet, here she was, face to face with the very man she had protected, in a sense. She couldn’t definitively say why. There was something in the glint in his eye that made Sansa want to trust him and made her want to run as far away from him as possible at the same time.

She turned, ignoring his question that she was entirely sure was rhetorical anyhow. He already had his answer by the way he was smirking at her. She took a deep breath, looking up at the stage where Joffrey began speaking. She felt Petyr step forward to stand by her side, the heat that radiated off of him becoming incredibly distracting.

“Good afternoon, and thank all of you for attending this fundraiser, held by my grandfather, Tywin Lannister,” Joffrey spoke into the microphone at the podium. He gestured to where Tywin sat behind him, and Tywin gave a brief nod, to the crowd of people who clapped for him.

Tywin was a very prominent man. He had built the Lannisters from the ground up. Lannister had always been a name that bore success and pride, but the Lannisters had never been great until Tywin had come along. He had struck the right deals with the right families and aligned favour with the proper contacts, all but selling his daughter to a young man with very high political aspirations. Marrying Cersei to Robert Baratheon had thrust the Lannisters into the limelight as Robert, a political activist throughout his youth, had always been favoured to one day fall into the role of Prime Minister. Sansa had briefly looked up to the man, when she hadn’t known what the Lannisters were truly about.

“I know that this country has been continuously let down by its predecessors,” Joffrey’s voice cut through the dying applause, “and Westeros will only continue to fall if we hand the country over to Northerner who knows nothing besides lumber, coal, and the cold.”

Sansa’s stomach knotted at the murmurs of agreement throughout the room.

“We need a leader who will lead. We need someone who is not afraid to take charge, and who is willing to do whatever it takes to put the best interest of the country first. We need someone who knows how to _rule_. While I can’t speak to my father’s actions in office, especially in his last years, he taught me some very important lessons about strength and weakness. I will only let his weaknesses make me, and our country stronger as we move forward to a new, prosperous world.”

There were a couple of cheers through the crowd, and Sansa felt sick. He sounded articulate and well read up there, he truly did, and yet, she knew his words were hollow. She remembered the sweet words he had said to her once, and she remembered the pain that followed. How the country could believe such a boy could run a country was beyond her.

“Did he write this?” she muttered, catching Petyr’s attention.

“Cersei and Tywin had a hand in making his speech more… relatable. I’m afraid the original draft came across as a veiled threat to the voters,” he replied quietly, and Sansa let out a dry chuckle that turned a few heads in her direction. She clasped her hand over her mouth to keep quiet. It was so very Joffrey to threaten the voters into voting for him.

“Use this to your advantage,” he spoke again, his voice barely above a harsh whisper. She spared a glance at him, cocking an eyebrow. “Pay attention to his words, to his pauses, to the fluctuations in his voice. Pinpoint where he is uncertain and where he is comfortable. Once you can do that, you can separate his strengths and his weaknesses. You can find where he is most vulnerable and use it to your advantage.”

He had moved closer, stepping partially behind her so he could speak closer to her ear, probably to ensure that his words were only for her consumption, but the heat of his breath against her neck made her feel dizzy. She could smell a hint of mint from his breath.

“Is that what you were doing when you came to see Robb?” she asked, praying her voice would stay steady, though she felt anything but.

“Partially,” he whispered, and she swore he had moved impossibly closer, “but I told you sweetling, he wasn’t really the reason I was there.”

_Sweetling_. She was a little thrown off at the pet name; more so, she was thrown off by how natural it sounded when he called her _sweetling_. She fought the shiver that threatened to run down her spine as her face flushed at the implication that he had come to see _her_ the other day. Why did the implication cause her head to spin?

“And what have you decided are my brother’s strengths and weaknesses?” she inquired, attempting to regain some composure that was slipping rapidly with every tickle of his breath whispering across her jaw.

“I’d be happy to discuss it in detail over coffee,” he replied. Sansa hadn’t expected such a proposal. It was a risk, to be sure. The Lannister campaign manager and the Stark campaign manager having coffee? It was sure to be a scandal if anyone caught wind of it. However, she couldn’t deny the desire she had to hear what Petyr had to say in regard to Robb, as well as anything else he was willing to offer.

She was briefly concerned that it was all a setup, that he would feed her false information only to watch her fail by her own design, but his knowledge and experience certainly made the offer tempting. She truly couldn’t deny herself and opportunity to learn from someone with the years of experience that Petyr Baelish had, could she?

“Won’t you be missed?” Sansa asked quietly. She could practically feel him shrug.

“Perhaps,” he replied half heartedly. He didn’t elaborate, and his lack of fear for the Lannisters, one of the most powerful families in the countries, struck her as odd. They could destroy his entire career if they so chose. They could ensure that he never worked in Westeros again, if he were to get on his bad side. And yet, he seemed to be willing to risk it in that moment.

She weighed her options. She _had_ come to King’s Landing in part because of him. She had wanted the chance to speak with him, to understand his mind, to perhaps learn something, and hopefully unveil his masterplan. But was it worth it? She could just _tell_ that he was nothing but trouble. It was evident in the glint in his eye that he was up to no good.

Against her better judgment – and she was sure she was going to regret this – she turned to face him, glancing at the door and then back to him. He was standing entirely too close, and a part of her wanted to push him back a few steps, but she was far too entranced by the way he was looking at her, as if she were the only person in the room. It didn’t last long as he seemed to shake himself out of his trance, gesturing towards the door.

They quietly left the auditorium where Joffrey could still be heard expressing his right to rule. Petyr and Sansa were silent as they walked out of the building.

It was a rather warm day, the sun shone brightly down on them as the heat of the afternoon had several pedestrians abandoning their jackets. Sansa loved the North, but she couldn’t deny the appeal that the South had with its warmth and sunshine. It barely got as warm in the North during the summer.

She glanced to Petyr who walked silently next to her, the gears of his mind seemingly turning. She wasn’t entirely sure where they were going. She had been to King’s Landing quite a few times in the past, but the capital city was the largest in the country, and Sansa was rather unfamiliar with many of the streets. She nearly laughed at her situation; she was walking around an unfamiliar city with an unfamiliar man. If her mother were still alive, she would surely have Sansa’s head for making such a decision.

They didn’t walk for very long before Petyr nodded towards a small café on the corner of a busy street.

“I’m afraid I didn’t even ask, do you drink coffee?” he asked, almost sheepishly.

“I love coffee,” she replied. Petyr shot her a small smile.

“This is one of the best coffee shops in King’s Landing,” he offered, and Sansa gave him a small smile of her own. It was very strange, the comfort she felt in Petyr’s presence. While she could see the mischief and chaos in his eyes, it did not frighten her as much as she was sure it should.

Petyr grabbed the handle of the door, holding it open for Sansa with a smile. Sansa nodded in thanks, walking through the threshold of the café. She did not miss the way Petyr’s had came to rest on her lower back as she walked into the building, nor did she miss the way her own traitorous body leaned into the touch. In a second, his hand was gone. She did not dare to look over at him out of fear for the smug look she was certain she’d find.

The café was quiet. There were a few patrons scattered among the tables, working away on their laptops or simply sipping their coffee. It was far quieter than she would have expected for _one of the best coffee shops in King’s Landing_ , but the atmosphere was warm and inviting, and the strong scent of espresso pulled Sansa closer to the register.

The barista greeted them, her cheerful demeanor nearly masking the apathy beneath the surface. Petyr looked at Sansa expectantly, waiting for her to order. She politely asked for a vanilla latte, while Petyr ordered an americano with a splash of cream. Before Sansa could even reach for her purse, Petyr had handed the barista a few bills, a charming smile on his face as he told her to keep the change. Sansa shot him a glare, but he only shrugged before nodding his head to indicate that they should sit.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she told him quietly as they sat at a table in the corner of the café near a window.

“You’ve made quite the journey at my invitation. The least I can do is buy you a coffee,” he replied, that infuriating smirk once again making an appearance.

“Well, thank you,” she said, refusing to forget her manners.

“My pleasure,” he said, and Sansa swore she could see the hint of a genuine smile on his face.

“Why did you invite me here?” she asked. He watched her for the moment as if trying to gage where her thoughts were at, but it was as if he was stripping her bare with his eyes; it was as if he was delicately peeling back the layers of Sansa through the subtle tells of her features. It completely unnerved her.

“Tell me,” he started, leaning back in his seat as his eyes continued their investigation, “do you truly think your brother will improve the state of the country, or do you simply want a hand in causing Joffrey’s demise?”

His avoidance of her question annoyed her, but not quite as much as his question did.

“Robb is just, and he cares about this country. He wants to see Westeros thrive, and he wants to create a country that is not divided. He would govern fairly, and he would do everything in his power to rectify the mistakes of the past,” she spoke defensively, and Petyr had noticed, his eyebrows raising slightly as he watched her with an amused smile.

“You truly believe that?” he asked. Sansa frowned.

“Yes,” she said firmly, but he did not miss the way the word fell flat as it passed through her lips. He flicked his eyes away from her when the barista appeared with their coffees. She placed the two grey ceramic mugs in front of Petyr and Sansa, before telling them quietly to enjoy.

Sansa looked at the extravagant heart that sat atop her latte. What was she doing here? Why had she come to King’s Landing? Why was she sitting in a café with a man she barely knew? With a man who was managing her brother’s opponent?

“He finds strength in his family,” Petyr’s voice caused Sansa to look up from her cup. He lifted his mug to his lips, taking a small sip before placing it back on the table. “Your brother.”

She quirked an eyebrow, curious at where he was going with his train of thought.

“His family is a source of comfort for him. He holds his family close to his heart. He’s faced immense tragedy, and yet, family is what got him through, what made him rise above the pain,” Petyr continued, “but his family is also his weakness.”

“How so?” Sansa found herself asking, captivated by every word. Whether or not she was to agree with him was irrelevant. The way he spoke with such confidence and knowledge would surely engage any audience. She briefly wondered if he had ever considered becoming a professor.

“He is the head of the family, the leader of the pack. He has an obligation to protect his family, no matter the cost. But his family also ties him to the North. His entire platform, from what I gathered, was about protecting the North. It will be his greatest downfall,” Petyr replied, scanning Sansa’s face for a reaction. She controlled her features, not letting him have the satisfaction.

“You may have forgotten, Mr. Baelish, but we were at a fundraiser in the North,” she replied evenly. Petyr smirked.

“Be that as it may, he spoke of nothing but correcting the injustices done to the North over the decades. As noble as it is, it won’t bode well for him once he begins his rallies in the South. He is so impassioned by the cause in the North that any other changes he may have regarding the South will sound hollow by comparison,” he stated, and Sansa was terribly annoyed that he had so accurately assessed Robb.

She looked away from him, taking a large sip of her latte as she stalled to find a retort. She was annoyed even further to find that he had been right about the coffee – it was one of the best lattes she had ever had. Bitter and sweet mingled on her tongue, a welcome distraction to her senses as she felt the heat of Petyr’s gaze weighing heavily upon her as he awaited a response. Slowly, she lowered her cup, licking her lips. She did not miss the way Petyr’s gaze darkened as his eyes flickered lower. It sparked something familiar within her.

“And what would you have him do?” she asked. She wondered if he would tell her. She wondered if he would offer advice, but then again, he was working for the Lannisters. Why should she believe a word he said?

“He needs to reign in his emotions when speaking about matters in the North. His passion, while admirable, will end up killing his political career rather quickly. He already has the support of the North just by being the son of Ned Stark, but now he needs the support of the South. By controlling his passion when talking at Northern rallies, his rallies in the South will no longer fall short. It’s perfectly fine for him to favour his birthplace, but he cannot do so publicly. If he wants a unified country, he needs to act like it.”

Sansa was surprised. It sounded like genuine advice, and good advice at that. She had always feared her brother’s hyper focus on the North would become a problem, but she had never addressed it. She couldn’t help but narrow her eyes. Why would he give her sound advice? Was it truly a sabotage?

It was once again as if he could read her thoughts as a devilish grin overcame his features. He leaned forward in his seat, forearms resting against the edge of the table, his hands wrapped around his ceramic mug as he eyed her curiously.

“You asked why I invited you. I wanted you to see Joffrey speak. You can tell a lot from the first public appearance of an election candidate. It’s where they reveal all of their flaws, their uncertainties. It’s the first time they speak openly, and they are bound to falter. They are bound to fumble over a word, a sentence, a policy for change they don’t truly believe in,” he paused, taking in her reaction. She couldn’t help but listen intently. Having never been mentored, never been personally taught the ins and outs of campaigning, she was captivated by the experience and skill he possessed.

“So, tell me Sansa, what are Joffrey’s strengths and weaknesses?” he asked, and Sansa tried not to focus on the way her name sounded as it rolled off his tongue. She thought for a moment. In reality, she didn’t really need to see Joffrey’s speech to answer Petyr’s question. She unfortunately knew Joffrey well enough to answer his questions.

“He likes to be in control,” she said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t recognize the tortured look that she was sure crossed her features for a brief second. He made no indication that he had, so she continued, “It gives him strength to hold the power over everyone else in the room. He thrives on the attention of others and having the power to control them as he pleases.”

“And weaknesses?” he urged her to continue, giving no indication whether he thought she was correct or not. She had to think about that for a moment. Joffrey had always put on a brave face. He made it seem like he feared nothing, and that nothing could tear him down. That, of course, was false. Anyone could be torn down.

“He’s apathetic towards the issues and the people he claims he wishes to serve. He likes control and power, but he is corrupt and cruel. He doesn’t want to see the people of Westeros unite, he wants to divide them further and revel in the destruction he’s caused,” she spit out the last part, and she knew this time Petyr would feel the venom. She glanced up from her half empty cup she had been staring into. She nearly didn’t recognize Petyr. He was looking at her in a way she had never seen from him before. There was a sadness in his eyes, but there was also a hint of rage that she somehow knew wasn’t directed at her.

She watched as he took a long sip from his cup, finishing off the last of his americano. He looked to be deep in thought as he his eyes gazed out the window, watching the daily hustle of the people of King’s Landing. He was only silent for a moment before he turned back to her, his mask seemingly back, perfectly placed over his features.

“You must use what you know to your advantage. If you want to win this election, you’re going to have to play a little dirty, and that may mean there will come a time where you will need to expose his weaknesses. In this game, you have to be ruthless. Honor and playing by the rules will eliminate you from the game,” he spoke quietly, for her ears only. She absorbed every word, storing them in the deepest parts of her mind for later.

She couldn’t shake off the nagging voice in her mind telling him he was working for the Lannisters. It was easy to forget that fact, she told herself, he didn’t really seem as if he cared much for them, much less, supported them.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked. She had to know. He was being far too kind and far too familiar to be an opponent, and she needed to know why. He grinned mischievously.

“They often tell you to keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” he told her evenly. She eyed him up and down, contemplating his words.

“Is that what we are, Mr. Baelish? Are we enemies?” she asked. His smirk widened as he leant forward further. He was close, close enough that she could smell the faint coffee mingle with mint from his breath. She was surprised to find herself leaning in as well, as if she were moving in to hear a secret.

“Petyr,” he spoke so softly she had barely heard him. Her brows furrowed in confusion.

“What?” she whispered her inquiry.

“Call me Petyr,” he said, and he was looking at her in such a way that she thought he might lean in just a few inches to close the space between them. For a split second, she was sure she would have yielded.

Instead, he pushed himself back, moving to stand from his chair.

“I’m afraid I must get going, sweetling,” he said, and her mind clung to the last word out of his mouth. _Sweetling_ – there it was again. She hated how natural it sounded.

Sansa only stared up at him, unnerved by what had nearly passed between them only a moment before. She watched as he fished through the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He placed a small card on the table next to where one of her hands rested.

“In case you find yourself needing some advice,” he said. He let his fingers graze hers as he left the card on the table, and Sansa fought the shiver that threatened to run down her spine. “Goodbye, Sansa.”

“Goodbye Petyr,” she found herself whispering after him as he was walking away. He didn’t turn back to look at her once as he exited the building, and that alone was enough to drive her wild for the rest of the evening.

Finally, Sansa looked down at the card he had placed on the table. It was a business card that included his office number _and_ his cellphone number. She glanced back at the door where he had just exited, her mind racing. For days to come she would not be able to stop thinking about the enigma that is Petyr Baelish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a longer chapter for you. I find the first chapters of AUs are pretty difficult to write because there's so much to setup you have to write to get the story to go where you want it to. Hopefully you liked this chapter! I'm a little nervous it didn't translate exactly how I wanted it to. 
> 
> The next chapter will be a bit shorter and will hopefully be posted around the same time next week. Soon, we are moving onto bigger and better things, and I'm excited!
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	3. Chapter III - Games

March bled into April as Sansa tried to forget that she ever met Petyr Baelish.

Sansa watched as the rain pounded against the glass of the window. She was curled up on an ottoman in what used to be her father’s study. It was the one room in the house that she still felt his presence, and it brought her a sense of comfort. Sansa had never been overly close with her father. She loved him dearly, there was no denying that, but when he was alive, she rarely spent much time with him, just the two of them. She had always believed that he preferred the company of Robb or Jon or even Arya. He related to them better. Besides their shared admiration for politics, Sansa found that she and her father didn’t have a whole lot in common.

Of course, looking back, Sansa regretted so much. She regretted not taking the time to know her father better, to spend time with him. Robb, Jon, Arya, and even Bran and Rickon had so many fond memories of playing various sports with their father, or beating him at video games, or playing all sorts of practical jokes on each other, but none of that had ever really interested Sansa. She and her father had politics, but even then, she had to share him with Robb.

Still, coming in this room made her feel closer to him. It was where he had spent a majority of his time, working away, having meetings, reading. It was his sanctuary, and now it was where she and Robb debriefed the details of his campaign. It was almost like their war room.

Sansa turned her head to see Robb sitting at her father’s desk – or she supposed it was Robb’s desk now. He was typing away at his laptop, his eyes focused on his task. She was taken aback by how much she resembled their father. He had a hint of the Tully hair and his eyes resembled those of their mother, but the rest of him was all Ned. Strong jaw, hard set eyes, broad shoulders. She smiled at his concentration. He clenched his jaw whenever he was focused, just like their father had done.

She turned her attention back to the window. The dark clouds above had made it look as it if were nearly midnight out, though Sansa was sure it was only four o’clock in the afternoon. As she lost herself in that titter of the rain, her mind began to wander back to where she had tried to keep it from going.

Petyr Baelish.

Their last encounter had left her confused, breathless, intrigued. She wasn’t sure what to make of the man, or anything he had told her. On one hand, she appreciated his experience and believed she could learn a lot from him, and on the other hand, she would be a fool to trust him.

Over and over she had to remind herself that he worked for the Lannisters. She could not afford to let herself forget such a fact, to let herself trust the enemy. For all she knew, Petyr could have been feeding her advice that he knew would destroy Robb’s campaign. While she didn’t sense any love for the Lannisters from him, she couldn’t be sure. She barely knew the man, much less where his loyalties lay. In any case, she was sure his loyalties didn’t lay with the Starks, and she needed to be careful around him.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about him. It wasn’t even the mind-boggling conversation that they had, but it was simply _him_. For several days now, he would appear in her mind for the most ridiculous reasons. Sometimes she would wonder what he was doing in that moment, other times she would wonder if he was thinking of her, and other times, she simply wondered what he looked like out of his finely tailored suits.

She despised that he kept finding his way into her mind. He was almost the last man she wanted to be thinking about, and yet, he was the only man who seemed to linger on her mind. She wondered why had had such an affect on her. Was it the mystery that the man hid behind? Was it because he was the first man besides her brothers who had shown her some semblance of kindness in a very long time? Was it the experience and knowledge she craved to possess?

It had been over two weeks since she had last seen him. She had considered reaching out to him after he had left her his card, but she hadn’t had a reason. She could have asked him for advice, but a part of her screamed at her not to. _He’s the enemy,_ she kept telling herself. And yet, she couldn’t help but think about the next time she might see him again. She knew that it was rather likely that Robb and Joffrey would have a couple of rallies in the same cities at the same times, but she couldn’t be sure she would see Petyr. She doubted he would be so bold as to show up to Robb’s rally when he was needed elsewhere. She figured she’d likely see him at the debates, but she was sure that with all of the prying eyes, he wouldn’t say more than a simple hello while the smirk on his face said all the rest.

She felt silly. She wasn’t even sure the man wanted to see her again, and here she was thinking about what she might say or do if they ever found themselves in the same room. _What was he doing to her?_

It was then that the television that had numbly been playing in the background caught her attention. She had heard Joffrey’s name being used, and it was enough to tear her attention away from her thoughts. As she looked at the screen, she saw a number of truly disturbing images. The Lannister campaign ad displayed several photos of Joffrey holding babies, kissing babies on their cheeks, holding dogs at a rescue shelter, doing things that Sansa knew didn’t interest Joffrey in the least. She wanted to gag.

“Joffrey Baratheon chooses his people. This autumn, choose him,” an unfamiliar voice said as a candid photo came up of Joffrey standing at a podium, a grin planted on his face as he was surrounded by blood red banners with golden lions on them – the logo Joffrey had chosen to represent his campaign. If Joffrey won the election, the golden lion would become the country’s symbol, reflecting the leadership they had chosen, a notion that had always been ridiculous to Sansa.

She shook her head disapprovingly at the propaganda. Joffrey was _not_ a man who held babies or volunteered at animal shelters or who cared at all about the well being of others. He wanted power, and he wanted the glory that came with it.

“I suppose we’ll have to hire some babies for me to hold,” Robb said bitterly from the desk as he looked at the television, his features set in a deep frown. He lifted the remote, pressing the power button forcefully.

“We don’t have to hire anyone, Robb. What you have over Joffrey is authenticity. You are real, and you really want to change the country for the better, and that will come though. If you hold a baby, or you tend to an injured or ill animal, it’s because you want to, not for some publicity stunt,” she told him. He turned towards her then, looking at her blankly.

“How will they see it? How will they know that I really am here for the people when I’m not out holding babies or creating catchy slogans like _Joffrey fucking Baratheon chooses his people, this autumn, choose him_ ,” he spat. She knew his anger wasn’t directed at her.

“I’m sure that neither of those were his ideas,” she replied evenly. Robb nodded.

“No, it’s that campaign manager of his. Petyr Baelish. He’s one to watch out for,” Robb muttered. Sansa hated the way her heart fluttered at the sound of his name.

“What do you know about him?” she asked before she was able to stop herself.

“Only that he’s ruthless. He’ll do anything to win. Father had met him a few times. Apparently, he was quite the prick. He whispered in Robert’s ear and kept close ties with the man, but before Robert was even cold in the ground, Baelish had already set his sights on Joffrey as a candidate for the next election,” Robb told her bitterly. Sansa wasn’t necessarily surprised. Petyr did seem to care a great deal about this game of politics of his, and he seemed to like to pull the strings from behind the scenes. She imagined that the spotlight wasn’t something he wanted, but he wanted to be the power behind the man.

“I see,” she said half heartedly. She didn’t want to display too much interest out of fear that Robb would somehow know her little secret. She hated lying to him, but she didn’t want to give Petyr up, not yet. Not until she knew exactly what he was up to.

With a sigh, Robb shut his laptop before resting his head on his hand, looking at Sansa.

“I have to go pick up Bran and Rickon from Jojen’s. I figured we’d grab some Indian food on the way home?” he suggested. Sansa nodded.

“That sounds great,” she told him. “Where’s Arya?”

“Out with Gendry. Jon won’t be home for a couple of days,” he told her. Sansa smiled fondly.

“Yes, his camping trip with Yrgitte, Sam, and Gilly. I wonder if they’re getting poured down on,” she commented. Jon had insisted that this weekend would be perfect to go up North and camp in the mountains. The snow was melting, and he said the scenery would be picturesque for hikes and photos. Despite the warning of rain, Jon had gone. Sansa could imagine Jon sitting in his tent, positively fuming at the weather conditions, and she couldn’t help but smile. If anything could be said about the Stark men, it was that they were unnaturally stubborn.

“It’s his own fault,” Robb muttered, shaking his head with a little smile on his face. Jon had even tried to convince _him_ to go on this camping adventure. Robb had refused upfront. “Did you want to tag along for the ride?”

“I think I’ll just stay here,” Sansa replied, looking out at the stormy skies. “I have a bit of work I’d like to get done tonight. _Someone_ has to finalize the details of your campaign tour.”

“What would I do without you?” he said, standing from his chair and walking over to plant a peck on Sansa’s forehead, much like her father had done. “When I get back though, no more working. We’ll watch some movies or something. I think Bran wanted to see the newest Marvel movie with us.”

Sansa smiled at the thought. Bran hadn’t always been willing to spend time with the family. In fact, after their parents had died, he had practically isolated himself completely from the family.

It had been four years since the crash that took their parent’s lives. Four long, agonizing years, and each of the Stark children handled it differently.

Jon had become angry. Jon had technically been Ned’s nephew, not his son, but when Ned’s sister died in childbirth, he had vowed to take the boy as his own. Catelyn had never truly taken to Jon the way Ned had hoped she would, but she raised him all the same, and Catelyn and Ned had truly been parents to Jon. Sansa could remember the way he had thrown things, the way he had yelled. Jon wasn’t a violent guy. He would never hurt a fly, but when the doctor had announced that neither Catelyn or Ned would make it, Jon had gone on a violent streak, even starting a few bar fights, along with a nasty drinking habit for a while.

Robb had become the protector of the family. He hadn’t reacted at all. He had only gone to comfort his siblings. Sansa had thought Robb had been replaced with an alien then. He was close to both of their parents. He and Ned were often found together whether it be playing sports or discussing current events. Ned was grooming Robb for politics and was clearly proud of his eldest son. While Robb put on a stoic face in front of people, he was undeniably a mama’s boy. He was a model son.

Sansa would never forget the day, days after their parents had passed, when she walked into their father’s study, and saw Robb hunched over the desk, his muscles trembling as he wept into one of his mother’s scarves. He had stayed so strong for the rest of them, but their deaths had broken him too. Sansa realized her brother hadn’t been replaced by aliens, but that he didn’t want the rest of them to see how upset he was. He needed to be a rock for them. She had only walked over to him then, wrapping an arm around him and holding him as he cried for his mother, for his father, for his family. They had never spoken about it.

Arya disappeared after their death. She had been gone for weeks. Robb had wanted to call the authorities, as Arya had only been sixteen at the time, but Jon had convinced him not to.

“You know Arya,” he had said, “She needs time.”

She had eventually come back, for Bran she had said. She had never discussed where she had gone or what had happened over those weeks, and everyone had known better than to ask.

Rickon was only eleven when he had lost his parents. He was old enough to understand what happened, but too young to have to know the pain of losing both of his parents. Rickon had taken up a majority of Sansa’s time. Taking care of Rickon saved her from having too much time to think of everything that had been taken from her. She focused on making sure Rickon maintained his education and tried her best to keep his spirits up, despite his resistance. In a way, Rickon had been her saving grace. She was sure she wouldn’t have made it through all the tragedy if she hadn’t had her little brother to keep her from falling off the edge.

Bran was different. For months, The Stark children hadn’t known how Bran would react, because he was in a coma. He had been in the car with Ned and Cat when another car had t-boned them at an intersection. They had been driving Bran back from his soccer practice. They were deciding what to have for dinner. Bran had complained about the disco music his father had been playing in the car. Ned had laughed as he turned it up louder, causing Bran to cover his ears and slump back against his seat. That was the last thing Bran remembered before waking up in a hospital bed months later.

It was incredible that he still had his memories from that night, because he had lost so much. It was a miracle that he wasn’t dead, but he had lost the use of his legs as a result of his injuries. He was paralyzed from the waist down, and he would need care for the rest of his life. He had been angry at first. He spoke to no one. When he was brought home from the hospital, he would only stare out the window of his room. It had been nearly a year before they had gotten him to talk. He had finally spoken about what happened, what he had seen, the guilt he felt. The rest of the Stark children had been broken about the loss of their family, but Bran had been shattered. The loss weighed more heavily on him than anyone else because he had seen their final moments, and he hadn’t been able to save them.

“Sansa?” Robb pulled her out of the past. She looked up at him. He was watching her with worry written all over his face. He knew that when she went off into space in such a way that she was thinking of them, that her heart was aching, wishing that she could just hold them in her arms one last time and tell them that she loved them.

“I’m fine,” she said, a weak smile on her face. And she was just that – fine. She was forever grateful that she had her siblings surrounding her. They could have all gone their separate ways after the accident to start their new lives, but they had all decided to stay together, to live in the home they had grown up in, and to overcome the loss and heartbreak together. She knew their parents were looking down on them somewhere smiling at the way their rambunctious children hadn’t let tragedy tear them apart, but rather brought them infinitely closer.

“Okay,” Robb whispered. He smiled, but it didn’t hide the worry in his eyes. “I’ll be back soon, all right? Don’t work too hard.”

Sansa nodded and he gave her one last look before turning and walking out of the study. A moment later, Sansa heard the front door click shut, and she knew he was gone. She sighed, looking back out to the rain. The sky was practically black now. She picked up her phone.

_4:38 p.m._

She sighed louder. She knew Robb wouldn’t be back for another hour, and while she had mountains of work she should probably attend to, she couldn’t summon the motivation to do it.

She thought back to the Lannister ad she had seen earlier that evening, cringing at how bad it had been. She knew she would have to do an advertisement for Robb soon, and she only hoped that it wouldn’t be that cheesy. The slogan was rather clever though, she would have to come up with something wittier for Robb.

She smiled at the slogan. _I bet Petyr wrote it_.

Sansa pulled the card Petyr had given her out of her pocket. For some reason, she had always kept it close, just in case, for some unfathomable reason, she needed to get a hold of him. Her eyes scanned over the numbers printed on the thick card. It would be wrong to text him, she told herself. _He was the enemy_.

Still, something tugged at her to message him. He had obviously given her his number so that she’d use it, and until now, she hadn’t had a reason. She knew it would be wrong, she knew she shouldn’t be casually conversing with the opposing team, she knew this would only end badly, but she plugged the number into her phone regardless.

_To Petyr_

_I’m curious, how did you get Joffrey to pose with a baby that didn’t cry in his arms?_

She sent the text without a thought. She nearly threw her phone down, suddenly feeling a wave of shame come over her, and why, oh why did her heart begin to flutter. She felt the panic rise up in her chest and willed herself to calm down. Chances were that he wouldn’t even reply-

_That was fast_ , she thought as her phone buzzed from beside her. She picked it up with a shaking hand, and she saw Petyr’s name on the screen.

_From Petyr_

_You underestimate the power of sedatives, sweetling._

She rolled her eyes. Of course, his answer would be witty. She wondered how he knew it was her. Unless he called other people sweetling. The thought didn’t sit well with her.

_To Petyr_

_I’m sure child protective services would love to hear all about that._

She wanted to kick herself. What was she doing? Was she really going to have a casual text conversation with the campaign manager of the opposing party?

_From Petyr_

_We both know you wouldn’t dare._

Sansa rolled her eyes. He was right, but he didn’t have to know that. She cursed herself for being so easy to read.

_To Petyr_

_And why wouldn’t I?_

_From Petyr_

_We both know that you enjoy the game far too much._

She halted at the message. She really wasn’t too sure _what_ the game was. Was it the election? It could be, but it felt like it was more than that. The game felt rooted much deeper than a silly rivalry between families and the desire to govern the country. She wondered if Petyr meant this game between them, the game he had started. The election was public, to a point, but in a sense, she supposed the battle was truly fought behind the scenes. While Joffrey and Robb were the public officials, Petyr and Sansa acted as the brains behind the men. They were the ones who strategized and created content for their candidates, and so wasn’t the true rivalry between them? And if so, why was he helping her? Was this all part of his game?

She was pulled from her thoughts as another message popped up on the screen she had been blankly staring at.

_From Petyr_

_By the way, it looks like we are going to be touring the Riverlands at the same time._

Sansa stared at the message. Robb’s candidacy tour wasn’t even public yet. She had just finished preparing all of the accommodations the day before, and as far as she knew, no one but Robb and Sansa had a copy of his itinerary for the upcoming months.

_To Petyr_

_I’m sure that whatever you did to obtain that information was highly illegal._

_From Petyr_

_Perhaps._

_From Petyr_

_Maybe we’ll run into each other._

Sansa shook her head, but couldn’t shake the small smile from her face. Why was she smiling? Did she even want to see this man who was supposed to be her enemy? _Yes_ , something deep within her screamed as she typed out her reply.

_To Petyr_

_Is that an invitation or a threat?_

_From Petyr_

_Both._

Sansa sighed as she stood from the ottoman, stretching her legs a little as she made out to reply.

_To Petyr_

_And what will happen to you if you’re caught ‘running into’ the enemy?_

_From Petyr_

_First of all, everyone is my enemy, sweetling, so don’t go thinking you’re special._

_From Petyr_

_And, because of who you are, I’d certainly be fired and shunned from Westerosi government, ending my rather short career in politics._

_From Petyr_

_But I’m sure it would be well worth it._

The suggestiveness in his last text brought warmth to her cheeks. He knew that even by speaking to her, he would jeopardize his standing with the Lannisters, and yet, he continued despite the risk. She couldn’t help but wonder why.

She wasn’t stupid. She was young and far from unattractive, and the way that he looked at her wasn’t with the kindness of a mentor. The way his eyes had watched her in the previous times that they had met, it was as if he had been undressing her mentally. She could see the want behind those grey-green orbs, and if she read him correctly, Petyr Baelish was a man who always got what he wanted.

She wanted to be disgusted. He was older, certainly. He may not be as old as her father would have been, had Ned still been alive, but he was _older_. She had experienced the attention of older males before and hadn’t appreciated the attention. One of her professors in university had been rather liberal with his advances, and Sansa had been repulsed. But when she thought of Petyr – his greying hair and slender frame – she couldn’t find herself to feel the repulsion she ought to. There was something dark about him. There was a danger surrounding him. He was obviously someone to be wary of, and yet, Sansa wanted to know more about him. She wanted to learn from him, to revel in his experience, and at the same time, she wanted to know what his lips might taste like, or how soft his hair would be.

She frowned at her own thought pattern. She certainly couldn’t get involved with the man. It would be career suicide, for both of them. She should definitely cut it off right then. She should definitely leave him on read and block his number, so not to give him the wrong idea. She should definitely not get personal with the man who would surely kill her career. A part of her was tired of doing what she should. She had been playing in several for many years; a model daughter, an obedient girlfriend, her siblings’ caregiver. She had always done what was expected of her, and it had never gotten her to where she wanted to be.

So, she replied, knowing that it meant she was consciously becoming a player in Petyr’s little game.

She spent the rest of the evening casually texting back and forth with Petyr. It was odd how easy it was to talk to him, even through a screen. He was unsurprisingly good at keeping up a conversation. She felt herself fall into an ease she hadn’t felt with anyone in a long time, and that was when she knew that, without a doubt, she was going to lose this game of his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit of a shorter chapter, and rather anti-climatic, but I hoped you enjoyed it! The next chapter will definitely be longer, and it will include some very interesting developments ;)
> 
> Thank you to all of you who have left kudos and comments. They fuel me.


	4. Chapter IV - Revelations

The air was incredibly humid in the Riverlands during the late spring months. Sansa could feel the sweat beading at the back of her neck as she pulled her hair up into a loose ponytail, hoping to cool down somewhat. Despite having visited her uncle in the Riverlands only a year ago, she couldn’t remember it being so humid.

Seasons changed as the campaign had charged on. Summer was approaching fast, and Robb’s tour was officially in full swing. They had done a few rallies in different Northern cities, and now they had flown into the Riverlands for the next several days for Robb to gather the support of the locals. Robb was already well liked in the Riverlands as he was the grandson of the formidable Hoster Tully, who had served as a councilman for the Riverlands for decades. Sansa assumed it wouldn’t be very difficult to rally the support they needed here.

Robb and Sansa had opted to stay with their Uncle Edmure, who had inherited his father’s estate when he passed. Edmure had taken his sister’s death relatively hard. He blamed himself for not being there, for not being more present in her life. He had made an effort to be more involved in her children’s lives. He checked in on them frequently, and supported Robb in whatever way he could. He vowed to be there for his sister’s children in the way that he wasn’t for her.

Sansa left her room, her luggage finally unpacked, and her bearings sorted. She stepped out into the hall, making her way downstairs to find her brother and uncle.

The Tully Estate was rather large for one man, Sansa thought. While Edmure did have staff under his employ to help with the upkeep of the house, she was sure that he was rather lonely. She noticed as she turned down the never-ending hallways that the estate felt cold and vacant rather than a home. It was missing warmth and laughter.

She finally reached the grand staircase that led down to the main floor. She could hear the laughter from the two men she sought drifting up the stairs. She smiled to herself. Robb was rather fond of Edmure. While he wasn’t necessarily the brightest in the family, Edmure’s company had come as a comfort to Robb after their parents had died. They always seemed to be laughing together. She liked the sound.

“A Frey? Really Uncle?” Robb said between laughs. The two men came into view. Edmure sat on the long, modern sofa, while Robb sat in the armchair next to him. Neither had noticed her entrance, but Sansa could see Edmure shrug. 

“She’s pretty,” Edmure replied.

“I’ll have to see it to believe it! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pretty Frey,” Robb retorted, and Edmure scoffed.

“Well this one is,” he muttered, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He practically shoved the phone in Robb’s face.

“Gods, how old is she?” Robb asked, a look of horror on his face. As Sansa approached the two men, she could see the tips of her uncle’s ears turning red.

He muttered something that neither Robb nor Sansa could hear.

“Oh, spit it out,” Robb prodded.

“She’s twenty-one!” Edmure exclaimed, shoving his face into his hands in shame. Robb only barked out a laugh.

“Oh, Uncle,” Robb said, breathless from laughter. It was then that Edmure lifted his head from his hands, seeing that Sansa was stood next to the couch he sat upon. If it were possible, Edmure turned a deeper shade of red, nearly matching the deep red shade of his hair.

“Gods, you weren’t meant to hear any of that,” he groaned, the shame clear on his face. Sansa only shrugged.

“If she’s of age, and it’s a consensual relationship, I don’t see an issue,” she told her uncle, shooting a look at Robb to stop his laughter. He stopped immediately but was clearly struggling to control his facial features.

“Yes, of course, as long as it’s consensual and you’re happy,” Robb added, coughing to cover up a laugh. Sansa rolled her eyes. Was it really that funny that Edmure was seeing someone younger than himself? Sansa didn’t think so. Of course, she could see the appeal. Older men were… experienced. She was sure one could learn a lot in a relationship with an older man. She desperately tried to ignore the grey-green eyes that crossed her mind.

“Sansa, Robb and I were going to go to a pub tonight with Uncle Bryden. Would you like to join us?” Edmure asked, clearly trying to change the subject. Sansa thought for a moment. She didn’t really want to spend the night in a grubby pub, even if it was in the company of her family. She was rather tired from the day’s travel, and she was sure her brother and uncles would be out until the wee hours of the morning.

“I think I’ll pass, but thank you,” she declined politely.

“Okay, will you be all right on your own?” Edmure asked. Sansa wanted to roll her eyes. She was a fully grown woman capable of taking care of herself, but sometimes she thought Edmure still believed she was the fragile little girl who would visit every other summer.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll take a walk,” she said with a shrug. She could sense Robb’s sharpened stare.

“Just be careful,” he said. She looked at him, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. _Joffrey’s here_. She gave him a little nod, hoping it was enough to comfort him. Robb was one of the three people who knew about her painful past with Joffrey, the other two being Jon and Arya. They had seen the bruises and the scars, and they knew what Joffrey had done to her. They knew what he could do to her, if he were provoked enough.

“I will be,” she said. Robb nodded in response, but still didn’t look convinced. He refrained from commenting further, knowing his younger sister would likely not heed his advice. If she put her mind to something, she was bound to do it. She certainly had the Stark’s stubbornness.

“Well, Bryden is probably already starting the party without us,” Edmure spoke, breaking the tension in the room. Robb looked at him, his eyes softening a little.

“Yes, I suppose we should go,” Robb replied, and the men stood. Edmure gave Sansa a little nod.

“We can be back here in ten minutes if you need anything,” he told her. Sansa refrained from rolling her eyes again as Edmure walked past her.

“Seriously, call if you need anything, and maybe take Brienne if you go out,” Robb suggested. This time, Sansa did roll her eyes.

“I’ll be fine, Robb,” she said. Robb gave her one last look before placing a chaste kiss on the side of her head, following Edmure. “Have fun but remember we have work to do tomorrow!”

Robb didn’t even look back as he flipped Sansa off before he was out of sight, leaving Sansa standing in the middle of the living room by herself.

She sighed, looking around the grand space. The décor was mostly in tones of grey, making the space feel cold. There was no warmth here, no personality. There were very few family photos and knick knacks. It truly looked like a bachelor pad rather than the family estate it had been designed to be.

Sansa let herself fall back onto the sofa, grunting when she realized it was much firmer than she had anticipated. She took her phone out of her pocket, glancing at her lock screen. She smiled when she saw she had one unread message.

_From Petyr_

_How was your flight?_

It had been weeks since she had sent that first text to Petyr off of an impulse. She had figured that after that night, the conversation would dwindle, and they would lose contact. Isn’t that how it tended to happen with people? Unless she was really close with someone, Sansa couldn’t fathom chatting with someone casually over text every day.

However, she had been doing just that with Petyr.

He was easy to text with. He kept up an interesting conversation without making it lengthy. Often times, he would just ask questions about her. Surprisingly, the questions weren’t about the campaign, but rather about what she liked and didn’t liked. He seemed to value her opinion on things more than her campaign strategy.

Their conversations were entirely casual, and Sansa was rather shocked by the dynamic that had formed so quickly between them. They had a natural banter that surprised her. It was odd. She had met this man twice, and yet, she found herself talking with him every day about little things.

She even found herself a little disheartened when he hadn’t tried to make any plans to meet up when she arrived in the Riverlands. He had hinted to a potential meeting several times over the past few weeks but had never said anything concrete. She told herself that she didn’t want to meet with him, that it would only lead to trouble, but she couldn’t help but want to see him. After getting to know him on a more personal level over the past weeks, she felt a need to physically see him.

_To Petyr_

_It was okay. I’ve never really been a fan of flying._

She sent the message. She stared the screen for a moment before her fingers began typing again.

_To Petyr_

_What are you doing tonight?_

She cringed inwardly as she hit send. Was she coming off too desperate? It wasn’t that she was _desperate_ to see him… was she? Surely not. She was simply curious, and with him only being in Riverrun for a few more days, and their conflicting schedules, she figured it was likely now or never. Or that’s what she kept telling herself.

A few minutes passed and he didn’t reply. Perhaps he was busy. Or perhaps he didn’t want to see her. She wouldn’t necessarily be surprised. She was actually surprised that he had still been messaging her. She was sure he would have lost interest.

Her thoughts were cut off when her phone finally buzzed.

_From Petyr_

_Do you know the spot that looks over the Red Fork in Riverrun Park?_

Sansa smiled. She knew that spot well. It was a place she had loved as a girl, and it was a place that she still held dear to her heart.

_To Petyr_

_Yes._

A pause.

_From Petyr_

_Meet me there in 30 minutes._

It wasn’t a question.

_To Petyr_

_Okay._

She knew it was stupid. She knew that it was a ridiculous notion. At this point, she truly was sneaking around to meet with the opposing campaign manager, but the giddy way her heart hammered in her chest told her otherwise. She checked the time. It was just after four in the afternoon. It wouldn’t take her long to walk to the park. In fact, the Tully Estate was only a couple of blocks from the park. She wondered if Petyr knew that.

Sansa made her way to the nearest washroom, looking into the mirror to inspect her appearance. She looked a little tried, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. She let her hair out of her ponytail, letting it fall loose around her shoulders. She decided the modest t-shirt and jeans was appropriate enough to meet Petyr in. She certainly wouldn’t want to wear anything too revealing to send the wrong message. However, what exactly the _wrong_ message would be is what Sansa had yet to figure out.

Before leaving, Sansa sent a quick text to Brienne, letting her know that she was going for a walk and that she would be back in an hour or so. She left before Brienne had the chance to insist that she tagged along. She was sure Brienne could trace Sansa’s phone and find her if she felt so inclined, but as protective as Brienne was over Sansa, the woman understood Sansa’s need for space. She would never intrude in a way that made Sansa uncomfortable, and Sansa was grateful for that.

Sansa had detested the idea of having a security team at first, but when Robb had decided to run for Prime Minister against Joffrey, and knowing how malicious Joffrey was, It was decided that each member would get assigned a security detail. They were in the public far more than they had been before, and with that came supporter and haters. Sansa was just glad that she had Brienne and not Tormund, who followed Jon around _everywhere_. She was sure that Jon didn’t mind, he adored Tormund, but to have someone follow your every move seemed excessive to Sansa.

Sansa left the great estate, making her way in the direction of the park. The sun beamed down blissfully, warming her skin as she walked. She admired the other large houses on the way, the ones of families her mother would list off to her whenever they would go on walks. They were people who had known Catelyn since she was a child, and they were people Catelyn considered to be family.

Riverrun had always made Sansa feel closer to her mother, though Sansa had neglected to visit it as often as she should have. At first, it had hurt too much. She had far too many memories of her mother proudly introducing her children to the place she had grown up. So many recollections of her mother taking her children to the little spots she loved and telling all of the tales of her youth.

Her mother’s favourite spot had also been in the park that overlooks the Red Fork. Sansa had only been there once since her mother had passed. She had flown there by herself just to sit in the spot she had with her mother, and she cried. She didn’t know how long she had sat there and sobbed for the parents she lost, for shattering of her heart. It was the one place in the world that gave her such a sense of comfort and a sense of overwhelming sadness.

It was those same feelings she felt when she walked over the hill, her eyes landing on the river that stretch as wide as the eye could see. Sansa saw a vacant bench, and opted to take a seat, knowing she was a little early. She watched the river, ignorant of any people playing or walking in the park. The river was the colour of her mother’s eyes, and for a moment, Sansa felt as if her mother were there. If she closed her eyes, Sansa could feel her mother’s arms around her. 

_“I’m so proud of you, Sansa,”_ her voice came in the whistle of the breeze as it rolled through the park. Sansa smiled to herself, unwilling to open her eyes and let the mirage disappear.

It wasn’t until she felt the barely perceptible movement of the bench that she opened her eyes, suddenly faced with the grey-green eyes that hardly ever seemed to stray from her mind.

“I’m sorry I’m a little late,” Petyr said, a smirk plastered on his face as he handed her one of the two cup he was holding. “The line was longer than I anticipated.”

He was just as she remembered him, except he had a little more hair on his face. It seemed to be that he was growing out a goatee, and while Sansa might have once thought the idea repulsive, she found that the bit of facial hair made him look more distinguished. More handsome, even. He was dressed rather casually, something she hadn’t expected. Every time she pictured him, he had always been in a suit. Today, however, he wore denim jeans and a dark shirt with a light jacket over top. Somehow he was able to make the casual attire still look dignified.

She realized she was just blatantly staring at him when he cleared his throat. She shook herself out of her trance. Taking the cup from his hand. She looked down at her lap awkwardly before taking a sip. _Vanilla latte. How did he remember?_

“I have an impeccable memory,” he said, once again as if reading her mind.

“How do you do that?” she asked, his smirk widened.

“I’m afraid your eyes are an open book, Sweetling,” he told her, “you show every emotion, every inquiry pass through your eyes before they pass through your lips.”

She looked away from them, feeling the flush burn on her cheeks. She hated that he could read her so well. She sipped at her latte to keep from having to comment. Why was she suddenly so nervous? Hadn’t she been giddy only moments ago? Hadn’t she wanted to see him? Hadn’t she been the one to hint at seeing him tonight? She had, but now she was entirely unsure of what to say to him. She had never felt her chest constrict in such a way.

“Don’t worry. They’re a book I quite enjoy reading,” he told her, and it sounded genuine. Sansa felt her cheeks burn hotter as she refused to catch his eye. She was unsure of how to reply, but was saved from doing so when he spoke, seemingly changing the topic.

“Do you know Daenerys Targaryen?” he asked, breaking the silence. Sansa looked at him once again, her eyebrows furrowed. She felt her composure return to her. Politics was something she could talk about.

“By reputation. I know her father was one of the worst Prime Minister’s Westeros has ever seen, and that she put herself on the ballot, foolishly if I might add,” Sansa replied. Last Sansa had heard, Daenerys had been a joke. No one had believed she would actually run, not after her father tainted the Targaryen name.

“Not foolishly,” Petyr countered, “in fact, she has quite a bit of support in the South.”

“And?” she inquired, knowing there was more. There was always more with Petyr. His lip quirked slightly.

“She seems to be rising in the polls. It could be a problem,” he said, and she felt that the smugness in his grin was unwarranted.

“For you, or for me?” she asked.

“For both of us,” he replied, his lip twitching once again, “however, as Joffrey is leading in the polls, I foresee it being more of a problem for you.”

She frowned at his snide gloat. Joffrey was leading in the polls _for now_.

“Any suggestions on how to deal with this little problem?” she asked, doubtful of his answer.

“And what would be the fun in giving you an easy out?” he countered, smiling devilishly. Sansa sighed.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, and he chuckled. It was the first time she had heard him genuinely chuckle, and as her heart paused for a beat, she wondered if she could make him do it again.

“Your advantage is that Robb isn’t fighting the shadow of his father. Ned Stark didn’t govern the country, but rather the North, and the people of the North loved Ned. Robb has already won them over for that. Joffrey and Daenerys are battling with what their father’s have done. One neglected the entire country, allowing poverty and unemployment to take root, while the other was willing to watch the country burn as he tried to start a war.”

A pause, and Sansa realized she was watching Petyr in complete awe. She couldn’t help it. He was captivating when he spoke of political strategy. His knowledge and confidence were entrancing.

“Use that. Daenerys is always going to live in her father’s shadow. She’s always going to have the burden of his mistakes on her shoulders. It doesn’t matter that she barely knew her father, or if her policies are completely different. As long as his blood runs through her veins, they will forever know her as the girl whose father tried to take the country to war. Exploit that, and she will fall in the polls.”

“But how?”

Petyr half smiled at her transfixed gaze.

“I can’t give you all of the answers, sweetling. I’m sure that pretty little head of yours can conjure up something,” he said, and she had half the mind to be offended at the comment, but she only found herself enamoured by the silky tendrils of his voice as he called her sweetling.

She looked away from him then, her eyes once again falling upon the river before them, trying to appear unaffected by him. She couldn’t fathom the fluttering in her chest nor the breathlessness she felt when he looked at her the way he did. She only knew she didn’t want him to see the way that he affected her.

“Just remember what I told you. There will come a time where you will have to play a little dirty. Honor and playing by the rules will only eliminate you from the game,” he echoed his words from their last meeting. She quirked and eyebrow without looking at him.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked, echoing her own question she had asked in the coffee shop. That had seemed like months ago now. She wondered if he would evade the question as he did the last time. She let her gaze fall upon him once again when she realized that he had not yet answered.

He was quiet, his eyes flickered over to the river, and now it was his turn to try and hide his thoughts. A sad smile crossed his face as he looked down at the cup in his hands, and it was the first time she had ever seen him look vulnerable. His mask had slipped, and all that was left was a man whose soul had been tortured in some way.

“She used to take you here, didn’t she?” he asked, and the question made the blood in her veins turn to ice. _She?_

“What?” she choked out the question. He still wouldn’t look at her, and that only made Sansa’s heart drop further.

“I’m sure she did. It was her favourite spot, even as a child,” he replied, but it felt as if he were speaking to himself more than to her. Sansa was at a loss. Surely, he wasn’t speaking about her mother. She knew that her father had known Petyr purely on a professional basis, but her mother? She had never mentioned him.

Could it be that her mother had known Petyr? She was so confused. What was the nature of their relationship? Or was Petyr mistaken? But how had he known this had been her favourite spot?

She was lost as she tried to read his body language, desperate to find a clue as to what he was talking about. He looked up at her then, his eyes greener than they had ever been.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely forthcoming, sweetling. I grew up with your mother. When my parents died, your grandfather fostered me. For years, I lived with your mother, Edmure, and Lysa. I was quite a bit younger, but they always treated me well,” he said. Sansa could hear her heart pounding in her ears. This was certainly news to her. She had never her mother’s side of the family even mention Petyr.

“You see, I was very young and foolish, and your mother was older, and she was beautiful,” he paused to gage her reaction. “I had always been a fan of the stories where the underdog vanquished the monster and ended up with the girl. It’s easy to romanticise any situation when you’re young and naïve.”

Sansa nearly told him to stop. She almost didn’t want to hear anymore. The entire situation confused her, but she only nodded for him to continue as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“I thought perhaps she might feel the same way. She was dating your Uncle Brandon at the time, when I got the noble idea to fight him for her hand,” he said, a bitter smile on his face. Sansa couldn’t help the slight gaping of her jaw. “Let’s just say I’ll always have a token of that foolish notion.”

She didn’t miss the way his fingers ghosted over his sternum. She suddenly wondered what hid behind his clothes. Would she find a scar? Did he bear reminders of foolish naivety on his skin as she did?

She felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t help but wonder if his help, if his attention towards her had been out of some paternal nature. Had she read it all wrong? Had he thought of her as the daughter that could have been? Did he still hold a torch for her mother? The thought made her sick to her stomach.

“Is that why you’ve been helping me?” she had to ask.

“No,” he was quick to answer as he focused his gaze on her once more. His eyes were darker now. The green seemed to disappear in an instant, leaving only the grey behind. He was closer than he had been. Had he leaned in? Or had she? She couldn’t be too sure, she only knew that she felt the whisper of his breath across her cheek, and she was frozen in place with her heart thumping furiously against her ribs.

With slow, measured movements, as if to be sure he wouldn’t scare her away, he brought a piece of her hair between his fingers. He broke eye contact then to look at the strands of auburn that he held.

“You’re more beautiful than she ever was,” he whispered. He glanced back up to meet her eyes once again. There was something raw that Sansa hadn’t seen in his eyes before. Where his gaze was typically controlled and calculating, now it was stripped bare – wild and dark. For a moment, she couldn’t be sure of what to expect. Would he kiss her? Would she let him?

He leant forward, and her breath caught in her throat. She felt her eyes flutter closed as she waited. She wasn’t sure whether she was disappointed or relieved to feel the peck at her cheek. It was a chaste touch of his lips, nothing more. It had almost been a friendly peck. Her eyes opened as she watched him release her hair. He was watching her carefully, a smile quirking on the corners of his lips.

“I’ve enjoyed seeing you,” he told her, his mask placed perfectly back on his features. This Petyr was different than the one she had seen before she closed her eyes. She wondered how he was able to gain control so quickly – how he was able to slip that mask on and off with such ease. “Though I’m afraid we can’t spend too much time out here like this. It wouldn’t do for some tabloid to get a picture. Can you imagine the scandal?”

It was then that he stood. Hadn’t he just gotten there? She chastised herself for not wanting him to go. She _needed_ him to go, lest she let herself do something she would surely regret.

“I imagine the next time we’ll see each other will be the debate in King’s Landing,” he stated. Sansa nodded. The informal debate would take place in a couple of weeks. She and Robb had already begun prepping, though she didn’t think she would be prepared to face Petyr again. She would need to be able to maintain her composure by then.

“I imagine so,” she replied weakly. He smirked, seemingly catching the waver in her voice.

“Until then, Sansa,” he said, giving her one last lingering look before turning to leave. She didn’t make to respond. She didn’t know _how_ to respond. She just watched as he walked away, her eyes following him until he was out of sight. She stayed seated on that bench for a long time, the vanilla latte getting cold in her hands, and the ghost of Petyr’s lips against her cheek.

* * *

When he knew he was out of her view, Petyr let out a shaky breath, feeling the fingers of his hand not gripping his coffee flex uncertainly at his side.

He was fucked.

It had been a fun game at first, toying with the Stark girl. It had only stung a little that she had looked so much like her mother. It had only brought back vague memories of the only woman he had ever loved. It had been manageable. Over the years, he had learnt how to move on from the past, and the memories only made him feel numb.

He thought that by getting inside her head, his future plans would be made easier. He had thought that he could use her in the bigger scheme. He thought she would be useful. He hadn’t thought that his chest would have constricted in the familiarly painful way when she looked at him.

He had thought she was attractive, of course. Any man with a pulse would have thought she was attractive. He had meant what he had said about her being more beautiful than her mother. Gods, she was stunning. But he had been around plenty of stunning women and had never been affected in such a way.

He had to get a grip. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. He had plans, after all, and as welcome of a distraction as she would be, he couldn’t afford to deter away from his plans.

As he opened the door to his car and got in, he tried to forget the way she had looked at him before he kissed her cheek. Had she known she had parted her lips? Had she known how entirely perfect she had looked? Had she known how close he had come to losing his control?

He ran a hand through his hair as he sighed. He knew things would only grow more complicated with Sansa. He knew the more he saw of her, the more he would want her. Judging by the way her eyes had flicked over him as he spoke, she wanted him too, or she was getting to that point.

He would not be so foolish as to tell himself he wouldn’t act on his attraction to her. If the opportunity arose, he would be a fool to not give in. He supposed it would be easier that way. If he had her in the palm of his hand, it would be easier to control her, to get her to do what he needed to move his plans forward. Besides, it wasn’t like there were feelings involved, right? He was simply attracted to her. Forget the way his heart rate increased when his eyes caught hers. It was simply lust.

It was then that he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out, his eyes scanning over the message.

_From Sansa_

_Next time, coffee is on me._

Petyr’s lips quirked up.

He was fucked.

Sansa Stark was proving to be quite the problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a day later than I had hoped to have this chapter posted, but alas, work got in the way and I wasn't able to edit this chapter until today. Hopefully you enjoyed it! We finally got some thoughts from Petyr! We're getting into some interesting stuff here. I have big plans for the upcoming chapters. BIG PLANS.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I appreciate all of the kudos and comments. One of these days I'll be able to articulately reply to the lovely comments some of you leave.


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